Defluo: Nyx
by shike77
Summary: AU, Female Exile. One of those really annoying What if... stories. What if the Exile made it safely to Telos? An alternate beginning to KOTOR II.


**Notes:** This was meant to be a contest entry on the KOTOR Fan Media website, but due to technical issues it remained as just your average submission.

This is an Alternate Universe story. Not insanely, but with like, one very important piece of storyline.; what if the Harbinger had actually gone to Telos instead of being intercepted by the Sith? Basically, the Exile still wouldn't have use of the Force. And, of course, Atton probably would have been able to find a way off the station on his own… _eventually_. I wish I could've done this in comic format, but there's always my inability to draw decent poses. And in general.

Atton entered the Cantina with a sigh and a long, disappointed glance at his surroundings. Telos wasn't famous for its Cantinas, and he was blatantly reminded why; the only Pazaak table in the joint had a line-up the size of an Ubese grudge, and every other table in the place was in a condition that he wouldn't trust to put his cards on. There was a somewhat large dance floor, but the only ones dancing were the Twi'lek being paid to do so.

Eventually his gaze swept towards the bar, and he found more than one empty seat… one in between a Sasquesh and a Bith, the next by that same Bith and a particularly nasty-looking Mercenary, and the last seated in the middle of a rather harmless-looking Citadel worker and a blonde woman. He cast a glance up and down her figure and caught glimpse of several vibro-knives aside from the retracting set of double-blades attached to her belt.

He stood for a moment, weighing his options. The Mercenary would probably bite his head off for not being a Twi'lek dancer, he could really do without the Sasquesh's constant remarks about the stench of humans, and the blonde…

Wait. She was an absolute _turn-on_—why in Space was he hesitating?

Without second thought, he slid into the seat beside her. Her head turned slightly so she could catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye, and he pulled a charming smile at her. He glanced over at the bartender, took note that the man was busy, and turned to look at the woman. Complete with black leather, _more_ knives he hadn't noticed before, a blaster, and her various assortment of weapons, she was obviously someone you didn't want on your bad side. One glance at the alcohol in her hands told him it was heavy; she was a bounty hunter, obviously, but not by choice.

"What will you be having?"

"Correllian Whiskey," he replied without skipping a beat. The bartender retreated to search for the drink, and he settled deeper into the stool. They were more comfortable than they looked…

"Clever."

He was startled by the woman's sudden comment, but it only showed on his face for a moment. He settled into a smirk and quirked eyebrow, turning sideways and partially leaning on the counter. "Who, me?"

"No, getting the same drink." She took a long swig from the bottle, and Atton expected her to gag, but she placed it back on the bar without expression. "What comes next is the witty pick-up line, right? And please, whatever you do, don't mention angels. I'd have to shoot you."

He smiled wryly, reaching over and taking his drink from the bartender, who left them immediately to attend to the Mercenary. "Actually, it was something along the lines of, 'Nice clothes; they'd look better on the floor of my freighter.' But, if you're complaining…"

She smirked, something between a confidant gesture and a smile, and turned to face him fully. She had the leaned-forward stance of a predator, like she was perched on the bar stool and not really sitting on it, ready to jump into action the minute something happened. "How fast is that freighter of yours?"

He shrugged. "Right now, it moves about as fast as Citadel's orbiting… I'm here for a couple weeks until I can afford repairs, and then I'm here until those repairs are done…" At her raised eyebrow, he shrugged. "Never fly through an asteroid field without the drift charts. It's not fun."

"Peragus, then."

He narrowed his eyes. Again, the bounty hunter thought clicked in his mind, but there hadn't been enough time to put a Bounty on him… and the Peragus administration wouldn't bother… right?

She didn't wait for him to reply, merely leaned forward. "I tell you what. You don't look like the kind of guy to settle in one place long; I like that. In fact, from what I figure, you look like a spice runner." Her voice was low, enticing, and he found himself leaning in so he could hear her better over the music and the hum of conversation in the background. There was a red rim around either deep blue iris that utterly creeped him out, but he could feel a deal coming on. A very good one.

"And what's it to you?" Still wary, he ran a hand up her leg, making it look like he was flirting with her. A gloved hand reached over and toyed with his fingers, and he found that he didn't mind the act one bit; but his mind was on the business.

"I've somehow managed to tick of administration; I can't get charter off-station, so I have to wait for some Republic Admiral or other to get over here and see me. And I have a feeling that that won't be fun."

She paused to take another swig from her bottle, and so did he. He preferred Juma himself, but the Correllian stuff wasn't all that bad; it was mainly for people who wanted to get drunk, fast. "Go on."

"There's an empty freighter that the Republic picked up on the way here; I've been keeping tabs on it, and it looks like they're done with it. It's a beat up piece of junk, and the diagnostics say it's got a finicky hyperdrive, but I've never seen a faster ship—and I've spent my whole life on ships, so I know these things."

He raised an eyebrow. "A fixer-upper, but a _fast_ fixer-upper?"

"That's not all, either." She paused there, as if she was going to take another swig, but decided against it. "I need employment; you need some muscle who can aim straight."

"Twenty percent."

"Fifty-fifty."

The man behind them staggered to his feet, then towards the door. Atton smirked, noting the change but making no movement to indicate it. "What makes you think I'm alone?"

She tilted her head slightly, with a smirk. "You wouldn't go to a Cantina alone, not in your business, and you wouldn't hesitate to sit next to a Merc. Neither would you hesitate to sit next to a pretty woman, even if you noticed he weapons on her."

He took another swig from the bottle. She was _good_… knew how these things worked. "All right, fifty-fifty it is. Where's your ship?"

She smiled. "There's the slight matter of it not being _my_ ship, but we can get over that with a little help. You got any cargo?"

"None left. The administration on Peragus swiped it. Doesn't take a real genius to realise what they're doing it, though."

She nodded, that slight smirk playing on her features. Had Atton been any other man, he would have wondered if she was playing him. After all, she had the look of a trained fighter about her; the woman could handle herself. That, and she had the look of someone who knew what men wanted, and how to exploit that to her advantage. But, Atton figured, she seemed like the kind of person who would be in trouble with authority; and the new ship sounded promising.

"So, what's your plan?"

"The TSF can't get into the navicomputer, because of the security on it—but, I found a T3 droid in their HQ that knows how to get past it long enough to enter hyperspace co-ordinates."

Atton frowned. "A droid."

She smirked, tilting her head to the side. "What, afraid you're going obsolete? Don't panic, you're not just along for the ride. I couldn't fly a freighter if you paid me."

He smirked, shifting his position to get more comfortable on the chair. "Somehow I sense that I don't want to test that theory…"

"Good idea. This droid is willing to help us get off the planet…"

"What's the catch?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, that slight smirk playing on her features. "Nothing. I just have to fix him."

"What? That's it?"

"Well, without giving him a memory wipe. The Republic was thinking about it, but they can't get near him." She shrugged, gently toying with his fingers. Any casual onlooker would think that they were flirting, but her eyes darted up and they were cold and calculating. The look in those eyes could send chills down any man's spine.

"Uh-huh. Look, I don't know about you, but I don't exactly trust homicidal-"

"Utility droids don't get homicidal. I've spent years around the things, and I'm still alive." She started to toy with his sleeve, rolling or unrolling it as she saw fit. "Besides, I'll take a look at him after I open him up. He's pretty banged up, but I don't think there's anything necessarily _wrong_ with him."

He groaned. "Yeah, whatever. Just don't let it point a blaster at my back, whatever you do."

"But your face is perfectly fine, right?"

He just glared at her, and that smug little smirk of hers, and shook his head. "Women." Eyes alert, he sent a quick glance towards the person sitting down behind him. The idiot was obviously there to do something he didn't want to do, as he looked more fidgety than an Ewok during mating season.

Atton leaned in, right beside her ear, and whispered, "Anything else?"

"No," she replied, so softly he strained to hear her. "You have a place?"

"No. Do you?"

"Yeah, but there's a camera. Though, I'm sure you wouldn't mind a little…" her fingers traced up the side of his leg, then paused to finger the seaming at the bottom of his jacket. "… _acting_."

A smirk, deadly as hers was. "Well, considering that's exactly what I came here to do…"

**s-n-s**

Lieutenant Dol Grenn entered one of the TSF's many security rooms, running a hand through his short, receding hair. This job just wasn't worth it, sometimes…

Then he realised that both ensigns present in the room were focused on one screen, and stopped. Lowering his hand slowly, he wondered if he really wanted to know what was going on, and stepped forward.

"What's the trouble?"

They both jumped about ten feet out of their respective seats, a look of pure horror on their faces. A wry half-smile made its way onto Grenn's face as he watched them attempt to form any coherent explanation, each trying to talk over the other in order to place the blame elsewhere.

"- his idea-"

"- I was going to inform you sir, I swear-"

"- didn't want to trouble you-"

TSF's head kindly moved past them, took one glance at the security camera that was surveying the Exiled Jedi's room, and shook his head. He'd had a feeling she'd known about the camera—she was just giving them a run for their money, now.

"Carry on, then. Let me know if anything comes up."

They stared at him, bewildered, as he turned on his heel and promptly left the room.

"… You think we should tell him about the recording?"

"No, I don't think he needs to know."

**s-n-s**

She had a restless night—or whatever was left of it, by the time everything was over and done with. Every time she managed to sleep, she'd woken in a cold sweat after some part of her past sauntered on back to haunt her. She didn't seem to have woken—whatever in Space his name was—at all, which was probably a good thing. Could hardly have a guy she was going to be working with know that she had nightmares just yet. She had an image to uphold. Of course, she might have just ruined it, but… who really cared. Honestly.

Eventually she gave up on the concept of sleep and untangled herself from her new partner—_let's see how long this one lasts before he hits the bucket or does something _really_ stupid_—and retreated to the shower. She tripped in the dark once or twice over some discarded piece of errant clothing on her way, but she really didn't care enough to note who it belonged to.

She didn't bother with the concept of warm water; she shivered as the cold liquid rushed over her body, but she endured it, and her hands were slightly blue just after stepping in. Someone else would have been concerned about a heart attack, but there just came a point when a person stopped caring. She leaned against the wall, letting the ice water rush along her bare skin, her forehead resting against the damp surface of the shower.

Is this what you've sunk to? Sleeping with men to get your way?

"That was—just a show for the cameras. They would suspect something if he took the couch." Her voice was barely a whisper, and she wasn't entirely sure whether or not she was actually making any noise; her lips formed the words, but she couldn't hear anything she was saying.

Right. Some 'Jedi' you're supposed to be. The minute they exile you, the first thing you do is get plastered and find some equally drunk idiot to sleep with. Then, for the next ten years, it's like an idiot shampooing; rinse, lather, repeat…

She closed her eyes. She probably should have been concerned about the onset of insanity, but she'd ceased to care long ago. Arguing with herself actually kept her in line. "Yeah? Well, I might as well have made the best of my existence, considering how meaningless I'm going to be for the rest of it."

What happened to your code of conduct? Your values, the pride that you walked into the war with? What happened to the person who talked back to Vrook Lamar every step of the way, right up until your exile?

"Malachore." A new fit of shivers wracked her body and she hissed, slamming the pad that would turn the water off. Enough inner dialogue for the day; they had a job to do.

Her 'friend' was awake when she came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her, and he smiled. He wasn't unattractive—those brown, intelligent eyes of his only quivered to a halt when it was important or appealing enough to warrant his attention, and he'd probably charmed more than his fair share of women just by turning them in their direction.

_He's won you over, hasn't he?_

_That's enough out of you,_ she thought to herself, leaning down to gather her clothing. He wandered into the shower without a word, leaving her alone to dress and collect her wits about her. She stood by the window, watching the otherworldly glow of Citadel Station slowly beginning to wake from its night-time life, running over the plan she'd formulated in her mind only minutes before heading off to the bar the night before.

_There are no coincidence—especially when you're a Jedi._

_I'm not a Jedi. Not anymore._

When he reappeared from the shower and was dressed, he crossed the short distance across the room and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She didn't know whether or not it was something he did with every woman he found attractive or if it was just a show for the camera, but either way she didn't find it assuring.

"Name's Atton. Atton Rand."

She didn't reply for a moment, her eyes still fixated on the mechanical scenery that lay before them. Odd, how low a person could go once they'd lost everything. From saviour of the galaxy to a spice-runner's body guard in the span of nearly ten years. But it really didn't matter.

Someone had once told her that on the Rim and beyond, you learn a lot about yourself; that was the purpose of a Jedi's exile. They were supposed to rely on solitude to find whatever lay within them, to come to terms with whatever horrors flaunted themselves before their eyes in the darkness of the night. She hadn't found that in ten years; like hell she was going to find it in the next twenty or two, or however long she was going to live. Even if she didn't find out what was wrong with her, she was just sick and tired of being alone.

"Saer Zeyl. You ready?"

A dry chuckle. "This is the kind of job I was born for. 'Course I'm ready."

"Good."


End file.
